On All Fours

Author's Note: Tis a little poem.

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It was your ass that caught my gaze, when first I met you, with nothing but a worst phrase - an attempt to convince you to take a glass, and take this crazed lass up on an offer to see if chance pays.

For dating, I always preferred the pub to the club, where you might find a bit of stimulating grub. Some nights it might be enervating, maybe even nauseating, little more interesting than old men at the golfclub. However, with you the conversation was scintillating. Amongst the hub of voices, I dreamed of taking you behind a shrub, and seeing what penetrating might be offered in the scrub.

It seems like such a lifetime ago, when those dreams and schemes became our daily climb. When my first moment became my screams of delight, in those extremes lost to my white knight. When you taught me of the unsettling bright light, and bedtime became my anytime.

Today, on all fours, I find the floor, as you drop your drawers. I'm your whore, everytime we go indoors. Take me hard, slide your cock inside, like when you took my v-card and stretch me wide. You splay my legs as you convey deep inside that I'm yours. Send my cross-eyed as if it's your yuletide v-day.

Fuck my cunt, as I moan your name, make me grunt and loudly exclaim. Lift up my shirtfront, and play the game. Bring out my wave front, and screw me lame.

God, fuck me stupid, my beautiful cupid.

Act the drover, drive in deep, take the whole thing over, until my cum you reap. Make me thrash as you plunge inside, make me fall over. Continuing your unrelenting thrust, until I splash, and you find your stride.

Fast and hard with no mercy, into the floor unyielding, it's no controversy - I love the cock you're wielding. Strike the hips, plough the tunnel, and push your tongue between my lips. Make me beg to overflow my funnel.

Leave me moonstruck, in your arms we fuck.

I'm your lover, there's no need to hold yourself back, take me and rediscover my joyous crying feedback. Hips in your brilliant grip, there's nothing quite like it to make me drip. It's contagious, this gift you give me. Your love is as tenacious, tortuous, as the first moment of the flashback to the day we met. It's pernicious, but who gives a fuck? Take me bareback, and ignore the playback.

Pound into me hard, make me sound the yard.

From the floor, and through the door, take me anywhere, it's what I'm looking for. To our bed, throw me down until I'm spread. Fuck me deep inside, until my sore little pussy is stretched out wide, just waiting to be creampied. Sensing my need, you turn back, trying to make this moment last, as I tighten up with a toe crack.

"Oh, fuck!" I'm thunderstruck.

I bring you down to the seashore. Begging as I'm done for, letting out a roar that ain't nothing but an eyesore. You treat it as a call for encore, pounding on the edge of my lakeshore, until I've got nothing left I can use to close that brilliant front door.

"Shit!" I'm not one to admit when too far you've taken my slit. Underneath you I'm split, not a damn chance that I'll quit. You kiss me slow and cool it, my reprieve you permit.

With my heart pounding in my ears, you shift down gears, whispering to me in romantic art, causing me to stutter and kick restart. Your love making me fall apart.

To your loving I succumb, as you beg me over and over, "Cum."

I might be saddle sore, and struggling to take the floor, but in your loving embrace I release the tidal bore. Clamp down hard, give my all and chart the course. A final moment, a gift to Astarte, and my head-start I lose. Part the waters, I flood by heart, until I feel like I'm about ready to depart.

Yet, I smile as you roll me over, and fuck me hard. This is your changeover. Like a work of art, sculpted by the hands of genius, there's nothing akin between me and a loment. You're beastly and care free, as you make me into your banshee.

Yet, even for someone who races the grand prix, the track has to come to an end. Your stamina might make me knock-knee, but you're no god. Just a divine lessee. I feel you swell, groaning, lost in the graces, as you're overdone.

"Yes!" I give one final gasp, no longer your personal barnyard, but now the sweetheart churchyard. A voice apart, you deliver in that bawd and awed moment to applaud.

Together we collapse, a shaken feather, as the moment wraps.